


Steve x Nancy Prompts

by ultrafreakyfangirl



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: This is a collection of Steve x Nancy Prompts. If you long lasting Stancy fans have any, send em my way! :) I'll be happy to dabble with them.This first one takes place in the realm of 2x06 but its non-canon compliant. Obviously. Nancy and Jonathan go to Murray's but it's only Nancy who realizes something. How she really feels about a certain someone.





	1. L is for the way you look at me

When Jonathan utters his name in an almost pathetic, soft attempt to get Murray to lay off, it triggers her, for some reason; some reason she hasn’t quite figured out yet. She hasn’t heard his voice in four days, or even his name cross the lips of another person until this moment, and she doesn’t know how that makes her feel. She knows how it _should_ make her feel. It _should_ make her feel angry, _pissed off,_ as it were, and probably more than mildly annoyed.

He’d just kept projecting all of this stuff onto her, this love, this great, world series type of love that neither of their parents had but he wanted them to, because, _yeah, sure,_ they weren’t just teenagers in a messy predicament of essays and college applications and fighting the Demogorgon, or multiple, she had no idea how many of _those things_ there were. It wasn’t so easy for her to just _let herself_ feel that way and honestly, it didn’t seem like he understood that; and _that_ is what should frustrate the hell out of her.

And it used to. But now that Murray was saying his name in this belittling way, dangling him in front of her like he was no more than a child’s security blanket, as if, when he threatens to take him away, she’ll throw a fit. All because she didn’t _have the nerve_ to confront what she really wanted. _And that’s just it, doucheface,_ Nancy thought to herself, almost snidely, her gaze moving over Jonathan in a tense, awkward position next to her.

He looked timid, nervous, as if this guy was actually capable of doing some real harm emotionally. He didn’t have a backbone. His good posture remains unexplainable. There’s nothing holding him up. She was realizing now, the more she looked at him, that his hair reminded her of Mike’s, dishevelled and flat all in the same wavelength, his expression was predominately that of a puppy whose lost its owner, and, _now this was a big one_ , how she mistook attraction for what was so clearly now just genuine empathy, and probably some pity in there too.

When she was twelve, she lost a then nine-year-old Mike in the grocery store, and for those five minutes he was gone, she grappled with this stupid, intense, guilt that screamed at her _this is all your fault._ It was in no way a comparable scenario for Jonathan and Will, but still, her conclusion remained the same despite that.

And she would never let it waver again. Letting it waver, letting her feelings teeter-totter for so long, eventually just made her play her part in the easiest, most predictable, and dare she say convenient narrative, so that all of it would _just stop._ Doing what people expected of her, of _good-girl, goody-two-shoes Miss Perfect,_ was _easy_. It didn’t cause her any heartache; heartache that burned deep in her chest, so intensely that it made her nauseas. There was no _bullshit_ this way. 

Except, none of it was ever bullshit. Not the heartache. Not the wrestling with her emotional turmoil until it made her sick, sick, tired and weak, so that she just didn’t have the energy anymore. None of it.

What was bullshit, complete, utter, _fucking bullshit,_ was how Murray was treating her, right now. And how Jonathan Byers was doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Fine, he deserved a little credit. A half assed attempt. She expected more. She wouldn’t get it from him, though. She should have known that from the start.

And honestly, she expected more from herself, too. She wasn’t doing nothing – she was glaring at him like if she put enough into it, she could burn a hole in between his eyes, but it wasn’t _something._

It wasn’t something productive. _Use your words, baby,_ she willed herself to speak, to say something simultaneously eloquent and badass in defense of her feelings – _her feelings that she, Nancy Wheeler, was capable of feeling on her own, thank you very much_ , but the icy vodka was burning the back of her throat still, and making her head feel slightly detached from the rest of her, _It was trippy. Being legit, actually, for really, real drunk._

She willed her mouth to move. It felt stiff, unfamiliar. As if it didn’t belong to her, not really. But for a moment, that was what made it all the more liberating. Because it did belong to her, and the words coming out of it. _They were what she felt, and she alone. Her alone. She. Her. She. Her. Whatever._ The point was, _she_ owned them. Not Murray. Not Jonathan. Not Steve. _Nancy. Nancy Irene Wheeler. God, if people knew about that – she loathed her middle name more than she hated a lot of other things. One of them being **people speaking for her.** How could she have forgotten that? _

**_Love,_ ** _stupid **.** Love did. It makes you forget a lot of things, doesn’t it? _

Not this moment, though. This was the moment she was going to make it up to Steve, and to herself. _Here it goes. You got this, baby._

“No. I _do._ ”

For a second, Murray looked confused. His eyebrows knitting together like an old man’s with the hair of his prime. She wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t even that funny. _Stupid vodka._

“I do love Steve.”

“Oh _really,_ now?”

Nancy stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing her glare onto him more solidly.

“ _Yes._ I love Steve Harrington just as much as he loves me. I one hundred percent reciprocate those feelings. I love him so much that it’s physically _hurting me,_ emotionally, too, I mean, it’s been tearing me apart inside because for months now I haven’t just let it in, let myself feel it like a normal person, not like he does.

“I envy him for being able to say it so easily, to be true to himself like that, and to me. And maybe that translated wrong, when I blew up at him like that…but now I can finally say it out loud like he’s wanted me to. More importantly, like _I_ want to. And I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?”

Murray raised his eyebrows as she paused for breath. She was feeling _spent,_ the adrenaline slowly leaving her, the vodka sneaking its sleepy tentacles around her throat. Despite that, she also felt satisfied; she stuck it to the man, and it felt great. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Steve.

 _Steve._ It took every ounce of strength she had left, which wasn’t much, not to use that phone to call him, right now. But, she refrained, because suddenly, she was paranoid of the slippery tone of her voice, afraid that it might make her words lesser, or something.

She wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t control her mouth, but she was feeling a little loopy all the sudden, though it might just be the shock of what she just admitted aloud to herself, to Jonathan, and to this _stupid ass,_ but still, not to the person who really mattered in all of this. And she didn’t want to chance it.

Waiting was going to be straight up agony. She knew that. And it was. She tossed and turned, almost woke Jonathan up to drive them home three times, all at dumb hours of the morning, and before she could do it a fourth time, she just gave up on sleeping altogether. She found a pen and notepad in the nightstand drawer – _thanks for being such a cliché reporter_ – and started to write her feelings down instead. She was so tired of keeping them hidden away, especially from herself, that she couldn’t do it anymore even for one more second.

An hour later, after she’d reread what she’d written six hundred times, because she was still a perfectionist and that would never go away, even when it came to her own damn feelings, she folded the piece of paper into a little square and stuffed it in the front pocket of her purse, before she could think about it too much again.

Feelings were supposed to be spontaneous. But still, she wanted to give him this letter. She’d talk to him after he read it. It’s been proven by their fight and that dumb excuse for an _I love you_ that he clearly fell for, and she still felt remorse about that. She loved him then, she did, of course she did, but saying It out loud was another story altogether. She didn’t want to screw it up again, now that she’s had time to think, which is also what started this whole mess between them in the first place, so the letter was the best option. The written word was what she was always best at, anyhow. Three essay competitions in a row, anyone?

Sighing, Nancy laid her head back down on the lumpy pillow. She must have fallen tentatively asleep at some point, because the next time she was aware of anything, it was the smell of bacon and two, distinct, muffled voices. _Finally._

…

When Jonathan dropped her off, after a supremely weird and awkward conversation that was mostly her apologizing and he assuring her that it was alright, that they were friends and only friends, and that some idiot’s opinion of that wouldn’t change the facts, Nancy ran upstairs to change.

She settled on a jeans, a plain, black long sleeve top and a jean jacket. She played with her hair for a minute, making smoother curls with her fingers, before spritzing her neck and wrists with that perfume he always went crazy for. Vanilla. He said he liked the taste, which was kind of disgusting, but she wouldn’t complain because when Steve Harrington gives a girl a hickey, he does not mess around.

She sighed, almost blissfully, redoing her mascara in the mirror and adding some blush, too. A little sparkle to her skin wouldn’t hurt, and neither would bringing attention to her cheekbones. They were her mothers, evidence of family photos abound, but she loved them a little selfishly. It meant she had something over Amelia – Steve’s cheerleader co-captain ex girlfriend. And if you accused her of being jealous, she will deny.

“Mom!” she called as she made her way downstairs. “I’m going to see Steve! Be back in a bit!” No response, as per usual, so there was no point in even stretching the truth this time.

She found him in the gym, focussed on the basketball that was in Billy Hargrove’s hands – basketball practice - but when she called his name, that focus was broken, and his head whipped around to face her. He looked surprised, maybe even a little sad.

“Nance? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, look here, Harrington,” Tommy chuckled. “The princess came back for you. Her royal stead. Did your knight in shining armor leave you out in the cold, _Nance?”_

“Shut up, dickwad,” Steve grumbled at him, giving his chest a shove as he walked past and towards her.

“Ignore him” he said to her, grabbing lightly onto her wrist and leading her out of the gym and into the hallway. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? You could have just called. Actually, no. If you’re breaking up with me, thank you for not calling.”

She nearly laughed. If only he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. From what she came here to do.

“No. I’m not breaking up with you.”

That sick hopefulness returned to his face and there he was, looking at her again like she owned his world. Like she _was_ his world. But this time it didn’t make her stomach turn. Well, it did, but for totally different reasons.

“I need you to read this. And then I need you to – “

She was going to say _think about what the words mean_ , but it was pointless. She felt them, they were true, and that was all that matters. Not everything had to be dissected analytically. Especially not love.

“Just read it, and then we’ll talk. I can go somewhere if you – “

He was already beginning to read it, and he caught her arm before she could move far. “No. Stay.” His eyes didn’t leave the paper. “Please, stay.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She had no idea what part he was at and that made her nervous.

_Steve Harrington,_

_I know I’ve said it once before, but that doesn’t count. And I know in your heart of hearts that you didn’t believe me, because I didn’t even believe myself. But I realized something, when I was away from you, and that realization is that I do love you. I love you like crazy, so much that it hurts. And I need you to understand that it takes longer for me to say it to you. I kept using that we’re so young as an excuse but that doesn’t matter. Plenty of couples in the movies are young and in love. Oliver Barret and Jenny Cavalerri. Gatsby and Daisy. Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Kate Morosky and Hubbell Gardiner. I guess these ones weren’t as young as us, but Sandra Dee and Danny Zuko, were. The good girl and the stud. The King of Hawkins High and Nancy Little Miss Perfect Wheeler. The situation is reversed here. It was Danny who took awhile to open up, but you’ve had no trouble at all. And in some ways, it’s made that easier for me. Being able to finally tell you now. You’re the one that I want. I guess you can say I’m hopelessly devoted to you. Okay, now that was disgusting, but you get it. I love you. And I’ll say it again. I love you. And again. And again. Now, look at me so I can actually say it to your face, lover boy._

_Xoxo. Your girl,_

_Nance_

He looked up at her, the piece of paper tight in his fist. That hopeful expression was still on his face, magnified a hundred times and she just wanted to kiss him.

“I love you, Steve. I love you; I love you and I hope I’m not too late.”

He grinned at her and brought her in by the waist. “There’s no such thing, not when it comes to you, Nancy Wheeler.”

They kissed for longer than they ever have, right outside Hawkins High gym, the both of them too caught up in the feeling to care.

“I love you too, my pretty girl,” he said to her when they finally separated.

She grinned back. “Want to go make out in your car? I don’t have to be home till five.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well, well, well, Nancy Wheeler. You want to make out in my dirty, disgusting car? That’s not like you.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m trying this new thing where I actually tell people how I’m feeling. And right now,” she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I want to make out with you until it turns into that crazy sex you’re always raving that you can give me.”

He echoed her laughter. “Oh yeah?” He bit lightly on the shell of her ear. “Well my car just won’t do.”

He took her back to his house, laid her down in his bed, and carefully, sweetly, pleasured every bit of her body, not one nerve gone untouched. It wasn’t messy, or rough, or quick and dirty. It was _crazy_ in a sense that she swore she felt almost overwhelmed with the intensity of her reactions to his touch, to his mouth, his tongue, his hands…but still, he was gentle. He was having sex with her like he loved her, and she, him. It was the best she’s ever had, by a mile.

“I love you,” she whispered when it was over, when he held her against his chest, his rhythmic breathing nearly putting her to sleep.

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too. And I’m framing your letter.”

She laughed. “Of course, you are. Good. It means you won’t ever have an excuse to forget it.”

“Forget what?” he asked, and his tone was playful as he kissed her back where her spine protruded most. It was adorable how he just wanted an excuse for her to say it. And she owed him that much. Just like she owed herself.

“That _I love you,_ Steve Harrington.”


	2. His Girl and her Beautiful Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in 2x08 - the Snow Ball. Again, as if I have to keep saying this lol but it's non-canon compliant. :) Ugh. I just love these two. I am loving all of the response I am getting for my fics (especially from a certain someone - hi, yes, you know who you are and thank you, I appreciate it more than you probably understand. It fuels my motivation to keep writing. Even as I should probably be, you know, outside and all that jazz. Oh well. :P Please let me know what you all think!

Nancy politely declined his offer to ride in the back seat. She claimed with a laugh that it was because she needed to be at the school early for set up and some vague, mumble about _‘punch purposes.’_

Though, in all likelihood, she probably just wanted a little extra time to get ready and give him and Dustin a moment to themselves. You know, that _man-to-man,_ _role model_ type stuff. Maybe he wouldn’t yet admit it to any other living, breathing soul, and that included Dustin himself, but he’d become pretty fond of the kid over the last few weeks. He wasn’t all that bad.

He wanted to see the boy succeed. He could be the next in line for the throne of Hawkins if he kept it up at this rate. It made Steve almost want to get an actual crown to give him when and if the day came, because he was a) _that_ asshole and b) he kind of wanted to see the kid smile. Like the way he was doing now. Steve shot him one of his own crooked grins, which only made Dustin’s grow wider.

It was a cute smile. It was cute in the way Nancy’s nose crinkles when she’s really nervous about something, not, in like, some perverse _I-prey-on-children-sexually_ sort of way or anything. Why he felt the need to clarify that was left unanswered in his head. _Ugh._ There has to be a word in existence for how he his brain works sometimes. Even _he_ could admit that.

Nancy might know. Probably. She knew literally everything. And she was beautiful too. Two birds one stone, or whatever that contrived saying was.

 _Nancy._ She looked so great tonight, _his girl,_ filling Styrofoam cups to the brim with punch, giving witty responses without the eyeroll to those obnoxious snotnoses who ask _‘what’s in this’_ with a stupid little eyebrow arch, and all with a smile.

She was literally the best person. Convincing him to chaperone this dumb dance with her, so she wouldn’t _die of boredom_. And sure, Steve partly said yes because of his boy Henderson, but nobody else needed to know that.

He just wanted to keep an eye on him. You know, make sure he didn’t get that fragile heart of his broken. _Woah. What was he turning into?_

Whatever it was, he hoped Nancy liked it.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he spoke in her ear, hugging her for a brief second around the waist and swaying to the music. “Come dance with me.”

She shook him off, but not in malice, he knew, but because she felt like she had a responsibility. Her goody-two-shoes act really was not one, and it was hard to break. Trust him; admittedly, while he does find it a little bit sexy, it also puts a damper on things sometimes. 

“Not now, okay? I gotta serve this punch. Plus, it’s not even a slow song.”

“Fine. I’ll wait.” He pouted with exaggeration and she just rolled her eyes but still, lightly kissed it away.

“Okay,” she whispered softly against his lips.

And so, he waited. He watched these kids dance with barely any coordination and tried not to laugh. He did smile a ton though. Something about their unearned innocence. Those lucky idiots were just born with it. But then he saw Mike, Lucas, Will and Dustin. His smile slipped a little. Their innocence was taken from them tonight, and all those days leading up to it, and they would never get it back, at least, not in the way these other goobers have it.

“Hey, you okay, babe?”

“Hm?”

He turned his head towards her, hoping he didn’t look as sad as he suddenly felt. Her eyebrow raise and wide eyes told him that he did, though. She reached her hand across his back and rubbed slow circles in the middle, leaning over slightly to kiss his cheek.

“You’re not. I can see it on your face. What is it? Is it because I made you wait to dance – because we can go right now if you promise to turn that frown upside down.”

She shot him a silly little smile and he tried to return it, but he knew that it didn’t reach his eyes. He sighed.

“It’s just these kids, Nance. They’re so young, they didn’t deserve all of this monster shit. I mean none of us did, it was pretty fucked up honestly, but these are children and they – “

He felt his throat constricting and so he stopped talking, just swallowed it down.

Nancy clicked her tongue in sympathy and hugged him close, resting her head on his shoulder and shutting her eyes, waiting more than a blink before she opened them again.

“I know. And you care so much, and that’s so sweet and I love you for your empathy, but the only thing we can do for them is put on a brave face and talk to them if they want to talk. But babe, they’re kids. They’re more resilient than we give them credit for. They’re basically human boomerangs.”

He chuckled and kissed the crown of her head and she just hummed in response with a cute giggle of her own. He took his hand from around her waist and held her hand, squeezing it. She squeezed back.

“I love you,” he murmured, putting their clasped hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

She gave his hip a sweet nudge as she led him towards the dance floor. “I love you too. Now let’s go out there and shake what the good Lord gave us, hm?”

He laughed and let her pull him to the center, just as a slow song started up. He wound his hands around her waist and she around his neck, as if they’ done it more than a million times and by now it was just second nature and swayed gently to the music.

They were so close he could feel the blood pumping through her heart and his own doing the same, but it was calm. Quiet. And then they were kissing, kissing sweetly and nondescriptly like two people in love, because they were that, and he could honestly say that she was the one person he was most comfortable around.

It was special, what they had, the two of them together, and even at seventeen, he knew he had a duty to never let it go. As if by a conscience habit, his grip tightened on her hips. To never let _her_ go. 

“Uh, hello? Steve-O? Steve, my man? _Holy Christ_ , Steve Harrington are you _shitting_ me?”

Steve felt someone knock his shoulder and he and Nancy broke apart, both of them equally confused and mildly out of it. That kiss was a doozy. “Huh? What?”

He looked to his left to see Dustin standing beside them, a bit of a scowl on his face. He seemed frustrated. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like, five minutes!”

Nancy giggled and blushed, while Steve just rolled his eyes. But he could feel his cheeks were hot, too. “Oh, come on. It has not been that long.”

Dustin gestured to his watch that he was conveniently wearing. _What ten-year-old wears a watch, anyway?_

“Fine. Whatever. Sorry, dude. Now, what is it you wanted? If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to making out with my girlfriend as soon as possible.”

“Steve!” Nancy practically squealed in embarrassment, slapping his forearm and rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

Steve couldn’t even fight the smile coming onto his face. The image that conjured for him, _every time._ How he wished she was naked right now, crossing those pale arms over her equally pale chest, trying, but not trying hard enough to cover that _sexy ass_ bra, because secretly she _wants_ him to see it, she wants him to know what she keeps hidden underneath her clothes. _Shut up._

Now It was Dustin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Noted. But this is a middle school dance and you are the chaperones. What kind of example do you think this here is setting for those kids, hm? Not a very good one, I reckon.”

 _I reckon._ Steve nearly slapped the kid. This little attitude of his was something else. “Sorry. But can you blame me, my girl is smoking hot.”

Dustin showed off his pearls, put his shoulders back, and nodded. “Nobody’s disagreeing there.”

“Oh god,” Nancy laughed uncomfortably, turning her face away and hiding it in Steve’s chest. “My brother’s little friend just hit on me.”

He stroked her back and glared at Dustin, who was still puffing his chest out like a macho man. “Sorry, pretty girl. That was my fault.”

“Two things,” Dustin bulldozed through, the ‘little friend’ comment seemingly rolling off his back. “One. I need your extra Farrah Fawcett spray. Left mine at home and the hair is starting to fall forward and look stupid.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, I can help you there. And?”

“And, I’d like to cut in.”

“Cut in…where?”

Dustin gestured between the two of them, him and Nancy. “There. I think I’m owed at least one dance, tonight. And your girlfriend is the only one nice enough not to laugh in my damn face.”

He felt Nancy smile.

“I don’t know, man. I think you gotta ask her. It’s her body. Her decision who she dances with.”

Nancy snickered now. “Oh wow,” she whispered. “You took that women’s rights thing a little differently than most people, but I appreciate it, nonetheless. Thank you, babe.”

He looked down at her, still comfortably cocooned against him like she had no intention of moving anytime soon. He wished he had a camera. He settled for kissing her head instead. “No problem, pretty girl.”

She looked up at Dustin now. Raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky you’re my favourite out of Mike’s buddies.”

Dustin brightened. “So, is that a yes!?”

Nancy laughed. “Yes. One song. But you better go fix that hair first, because I’ll have you know, I don’t dance with schlumps with flat hair.”

She grinned to show she was only kidding around, but it didn’t seem like the kid noticed because he darted off the direction of the washroom in a matter of seconds.

Steve went over to the bleachers where his bag was and grabbed the hairspray, but before he could get too far, Nancy put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

She was looking at him with this – this – he couldn’t even describe it. It was different, somehow, than all the other times she’s ever looked at him; it was nuanced, or something, like every bit of every _happy_ emotion was like a kaleidoscope, a rainbow of color, decorating every inch of her face. Her eyes were sparkling, and maybe he was seeing things, but her eyelashes looked shinier. There was no way she would be crying though. She looked _so_ happy; it just wouldn’t make sense.

“Sorry,” she gave a bit of a watery sigh, laughing as she wiped underneath her eye. “I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid.”

He gasped, taking her hand and drawing circles over her inner wrist. “Your emotions are never stupid. And they will never be stupid. Not to me.”

“Okay,” she laughed again. “You have to stop before I start sobbing. It’s this stupid dance and all these kids and _creating memories_ and _growing up_ and how they get to be _normal_ for once.”

He agreed with her, nodding his head but not saying much else. It was true, and all the sudden, he couldn’t trust himself to say anything without sounding stupid and emasculate.

“But it’s also because of how much I love you, Steve Harrington. I didn’t think you were, not at first, but I see it now, that you’re so different than all of those other pricks at our school and I just feel so _freaking_ lucky that you chose me.

“Sometimes I can’t even believe it. The pale, spindly girl with freckles, and her nose always in a book, who can and who _wants_ to study for hours about melting points and boiling points…”

She grinned almost conspiringly, and he wanted to do nothing more than to hug her and then take her home and make love to her for as many hours as it takes until they’re both too tired to move another muscle.

“And you know what else? You’re going to be the best dad and I didn’t even think I wanted kids, but now, babe, I know for certain that I do.”

“With me?”

Steve couldn’t believe that they were having this conversation, ironically surrounded by kids at a school dance, and so early on in their relationship. But that wasn’t true, because it feels like its been a lifetime with her, already. He had thought he was crazy for feeling that way, but now he knew that she felt it too.

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Of course. Yes, with you. Don’t be dumb.” But she was smiling. “Now go help Dustin with his hair before one of two things happen – I regret all of this, or two, I start thinking about names for our future son.”

He laughed and kissed her chastely. He wanted to stay longer but knew that he had to get to the kid before he had a panic attack in there or something. “ _Jesus_ , I love you _so much_ , Nancy Wheeler.”

He took a few steps away from her but didn’t turn away. He watched as she started to idly scoop punch into the ladle and then pour it back into the bowl, nobody there to take it. He smiled. Before he even knew what he was doing, at least, for long enough so that he could think about stopping himself, he called out to her.

“Hey Nance?”

She looked at him and gave him a beaming smile. She didn’t say anything though. She didn’t stop him, not that she knew what he was going to say anyways, but regardless, he took that as a sign and pressed on.

“Christopher.”

She looked puzzled for a minute, but then her face changed as she registered what he meant. The look on her face said that she could see it too.

The little boy with that Harrington hair and her ocean blue eyes, freckles a plenty. Damn, he loved her freckles. And her cute freckles on cute baby cheeks? The kid would be the death of him. Already, he knew that he would bend over backwards for him until he couldn’t untwist his body anymore.

The look on her face said the same thing. Her beautiful, _beautiful_ , face.


	3. Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of sort of an angsty fic. Whoops. Steve's reaction to Nancy's engagement...to Jonathan. Read it still please! LOL Angst can still be cute...maybe. Or if it's any good it'll make you feel something...I hope this does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it, okay, Jonathan and Nancy are kind of cute, and I see that the writers set them up to be a couple on day 1 so Steve pretty much had no chance, poor guy. 
> 
> This fic is kind of my whole reaction to that, through Steve. If that makes any sense at all. I want to add that since this is Jancy friendly maybe I'll get some new readers? I hope *crosses fingers* 
> 
> Majority of ST fans ship these two, don't they? Sigh. I just really love Stancy though. And exploring their relationship that we never got to see. 
> 
> This was actually really fun to write. Side Note: Listen to the song Ruin by Shawn Mendes either before (my recommendation) or after reading. It's what inspired this. Hence, the title! Side note # 2 - ignore any typos - I didn't feel like editing and most of the time the typos are pretty close to the actual word so you'll know what I meant to say - but my perfectionist ass is probably going to end up fixing them anyway.

In the winter of 1990, Nancy Wheeler got engaged to Jonathan Byers. The chill to the air was unseasonable, making his lips dry and tinge grey. When he heard the news, straight from her own mouth, no less, he had only one option. _Be happy for her, dingus._

Her cheeks were rouged and sparkling, her smile radiant. She was glowing. And sure, in his perfectly unbiased opinion, Nancy Wheeler always had a certain, beautiful halo of light surrounding her – for all intents and purposes, she was a _literal angel,_ changing every life of those she meets, but it’s the one she chooses to spend her own with, he’s the _lucky bastard._

And it wasn’t him. Steve wasn’t stupid, he knew from the moment she and Jonathan first met, there was this look, this unbeatable, eternal look that crossed her face, and it was in this delicate way her face changed, almost subconsciously, and in the blink of an eye, when Steve knew that he wasn’t _the one._

Even if Nancy hadn’t quite figured that bit out yet. _She would,_ he told himself, _give her some credit Harrington. She’s smart, way smarter than you._ And she did. Figure it out. It only took a total of seven years. That’s it, she can no longer tease him as being the one slow on the uptake.

And that’s the thing. The most painful part of all this. She _still_ teases him. _You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington._ Still, that phrase leaves her mouth, but before it used to come from the space between a perfectly crafted pout, when he wasn’t fulfilling her physical desires, or responding to her own advances; but more often than not, he hated to admit, it was the opposite – Steve shutting the Chemistry textbook and leaning her back into the bed all in one perfectly executed motion. He was _smooth_ like that. Or, at least, he used to be. Back when she would giggle and say something like _‘if I fail, its your fault’_ but at the same time make no move to get out from under him.

Now though, she called him an idiot from time to time while in the same breath Robin calls him a dingus. In a friendly, mildly offensive, way. It made his stomach drop.

The ring was too sparkly. If it were him picking something, it would be much more modest, not that he would pretend to know jack shit about jewelry, but he knew Nancy. He _still_ knew her.

Sure, her hair was different – the curls that spoke of teenaged innocence were long gone, and in their place was a polished, shorter cut, with layers. Some pieces longer than the others. It looked good on her. Different, but good. Mature.

And sure, her body was toned and muscular in a way that boasted her mission to _get in shape_ since a few years ago, and he wasn’t saying that she didn’t have a nice body before, but now, _now_ she’s taken it to a whole other level.

And yeah, he was an idiot for thinking this, _a real dumbass,_ but sometimes, and those were probably _x times too many,_ but he would find himself thinking about what was under that pantsuit now. And that was another thing. _Pantsuits_. Now that she was a legit reporter – he was so proud of her for that – just the same as he would have been, when they were together – she found this sort of outfit more appropriate than her usual cotton dresses or jeans. And they made her look it, too. Older. Blunter. Bolder. _Beautiful_.

She was always, and would always be, beautiful. In his eyes, that would never change, even if she chose to be with somebody else, and she did. And he _let_ – he just _fucking_ let her, so it would be untrue of him to call her anything but what she was.

“I’m so happy for you, Nance,” he told her now, and it was genuine; he _was_ happy for her, because how could he not be? It just wouldn’t be right. He wouldn’t truly love her if he wasn’t.

That pretty, sweet, and somewhat shy smile graced her lips and he was pushed into a lurch, his heart caught in his throat. Suddenly, they were back in high school again – she a junior, he a senior, and they were in his car, the sun bright on her pale skin, drawing attention to her mouth.

 _‘I love you’_ he said to her, and not for the first time, but it was, however, the first time she’d said it back, _‘I love you, too,’_ and she was shy, shyer than ever, but he hadn’t thought of it as disingenuous. Not then. He’d been too caught up in the words themselves and not what was behind them.

And that was his mistake to own, not hers. So, he let her go. It was almost like a penance of sort. He’d been such a _jackass_ back then, keeping her close to him when he knew she was not _meant_ to be. He so wished that she was, but that look, _that look,_ couldn’t be reversed. He’d tried, he’d tried for months, nearly a year.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft, nearly shameful. _Shit._ _Don’t do that, Nancy, please._ “I wanted you to – uh – you know, hear it from me and not…you know, anyone else.” _Or that. That’s worse._

“That’s…” He thought carefully about his next words. Not sure what they should be.

_I want you back. You might not be mine, Nancy Wheeler, but I am yours. Please. Give us a chance, pretty girl. I miss you. But you don’t even see it, do you? Do you even care? Of course, you would. You’re so nice, so nice and sweet and beautiful and it’s **so fucked up** that I still love you like this, that I’m still **in** love with you. _

He sighed. Louder than he’d meant to.

“Hey.” She put her hand on his shoulder, her left hand, he couldn’t help but notice, and that ring took hold of her dainty finger like it belonged there. Out of the corner of his eye, and he wouldn’t have seen it had he not been scrutinizing it for details, because he must _fucking hate himself_ , he saw that it was engraved. One simple word: _trauma._ No heart. No _J._ No _Forever Yours –_ thank god, because that was what he would have chosen, and if Jonathan had too, then _– what? What would you do, Harrington? Beat the guy up?_

She noticed him looking and removed her hand, twirling the ring around her finger, before taking it off. She held it out to him. Pointed to the inside of the band, where it was engraved. Thinking of it now, he had no idea how he could have seen it from his vintage point, and thought maybe, just maybe, he’d been seeing things. Nope. There it is. The word _trauma_ clear as day, etched into the silver.

“Jonathan’s is matching,” was all she said in lieu of explanation. At first. “Trauma. The word is on both rings to signify our – “

Here, she faltered, almost like she was regretting telling him any of this. He hoped his face wasn’t giving too much away. And if it was, he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a robot. He bit his lip.

“Shared trauma,” she finished quietly, that shame and, was it guilt, from before rising again to the surface. “You know, from The Mind Flayer and we got those matching scars – “

Here, Steve couldn’t help himself. He reached out and held her hand, palm up, fixated, almost, on the scar there that ran her whole palm in diameter. _Diameter. See, he was smart._ _Nancy was smart. She was so, so, smart._ They should have tried harder. He should have tried harder.

“On your hand…”

He sounded like a small child enraptured by something shiny, but he didn’t care, nor right now, because what in this fucking world did he possibly have to lose anymore, and this, this scar, was what she didn’t want to show him that night. _‘Nothing! It’s…nothing.’_

He could remember how roughly she’d pulled her hand away from his, the remorse she had felt shining in her eyes, the cool air burning his split lip and the spot she last touched him. He hadn’t noticed it then, but now that he thought back, he could remember the same bandage on Jonathan’s hand, too. And he knew that it hadn’t been some fucked up sex shit, so that meant –

“He has the same scar.”

She nodded. It was true. “How – like how did you get it? The both of you…I’d always wondered.”

Before their breakup, they’d only had sex two more times, in some messy, desperate attempt to salvage what he had so wanted to believe was forever, and she, well, she had other plans. _Life_ had other plans, for her, with another person. He would expend all of his energy and more into making her feel something, anything, more for him in that world-orbiting way he knew she felt for Jonathan. He’d touched that scar so many times, squeezed it, caressed it, turned it white through the force of his hold on her hand, but never, not once, asked where she had gotten it. It all seemed too personal now, too _intimate._ Which was funny, because he had once believed that what they were doing now, together, sex, not in general but _sex with her_ , was the most intimate act. And it really had been, at a time, but maybe that was only ever in his head.

He hoped it wasn’t, _Jesus Christ he hoped to god_ it wasn’t; virginity was something else, and sure he’d played around with his share of girls back in the day, but there had never been so much of someone else’s fate left in the balance. Until her. Sometimes, it felt like his whole world stopped when she came into it, and sometimes, he had the thought that maybe it never started again.

He held his breath as he waited for her answer. It was reverent. Her voice heavy with nostalgia and no doubt repressed trauma. She and Byers and had clearly been through some shit. Not that she ever told him, and it hasn’t been the first time he’s wondered _why now?_

“The Demogorgon – we had to set a trap for it. And we knew that it liked the smell of blood, but it had to be fresh and so…”

“No.” He grabbed for her hand again but shook off the urge. Force of habit. It was a bitch to break. “You two…cut yourselves? With…like…a knife?” He gasped aloud. He couldn’t even try to hold it back. “Well, _fuck_.”

He didn’t used to swear. At least, not all that much. Nancy didn’t like it. Said she found it unattractive. But it didn’t matter what she thought now, did it? Still though, he found himself biting his tongue, trying to keep the more vulgar words at bay. Old habits.

She nodded again. Looked curtly and her watch and then back up at him. She blinked. Once, twice, three times, and maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, or maybe he just wanted it so badly to be true, because he’d spent so many nights alone in sadness, over her, but there were tears in her eyes.

And it’s not as though she deserved it, because he wouldn’t want her feeling an ounce of pain over him, but, then again, maybe she did. Or, better yet, maybe he just wanted it that badly. For her to understand that their relationship was something worth losing, that he was someone worth losing.

“Anyways, I’ve got to get going. We’re having an engagement party at the Wheelers tomorrow night. Did you – uh – did you want to come?”

He wanted him to mean as much to her as she meant to him; but that would never be possible, so long as she has that ring on her finger. And so, it was almost selfish in the way that she just couldn’t seem to let him go, was drawn to him still in ways that she clearly couldn’t even begin to explain. _You’re **friends** , dingus. Great friends._ But he knew that wasn’t why. He knew that wasn’t the answer.

As he met her gaze, slowly, carefully, for fear of giving anything away, he saw that she already had. The look in her eyes this time was different. She’s never looked at him like this before. Not when they were dating, not when they broke up, or any time after that. And it wasn’t the way she looked at Jonathan either. And he knew that because the way those two looked at each other was nauseating. _They_ had never been nauseating.

He understood now. Suddenly, but with some odd sense of certainty that gave him no relief whatsoever; it just made her vice tighten a little more around his neck. She was _in love_ with Jonathan, that had always been true, but while she had never felt so intensely about him, she _really did_ love him. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why _Nancy Fucking Wheeler_ was slowly killing him. _And the kicker here was,_ he thought, _she knew it, too._


	4. Their Biggest Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in 1x08.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see that Nancy and Steve are back together in that episode, because they're cuddled sweetly on the couch. But how? When? Nancy had been so upset with him, before. What happened in that month between fighting the Demogorgon and some time in late December? Here's my theory. Or what I would have wanted to happen anyways. :) Let me know what you think! :) Comments are my kryptonite. And again, I apologize in advance for typos.

Steve didn’t know what to say, now that she was in front of him, staring him down, waiting for him to say something, anything, to plead his case. To make her stay. It was a ton of pressure. And for some reason, after thinking about it for hours in his head, before deciding to first apologize to Jonathan, he’d forgotten all of it. Every last word. Gone.

The adrenaline from all of that crazy, intense, fucked up shit with that – that – she’d later told him it was called a _Demogorgon_ left his bones weak and made his brain turn to mush. He no longer felt confident or certain in what he was doing or saying, not like in that moment where he just knew he had to turn back and help; he’d been scared shitless, but the lights were flickering again, almost in anger, and he knew that Nancy was in that house, and while he was scared, again, he felt the need to note, _absolutely shitless,_ she’d be even more so.

Even as she would hate to admit it, she held that gun like a champ back there, and that scared him for completely different reasons. He’d told her that and she gave him a grim smile, still angry, still _horrified_ at his actions, but a smile meant progress. Yet, he hadn’t been able to press on. _Why?_

With other girls, with girls that weren’t what Tommy and Carol called _goody-two-shoes Miss Perfect,_ he’d been able to twist a ribbon of words, of lies and half truths, manipulate them back into his bed, back into his arms, but these girls, they’d never been thought of as _‘his.’_

Nancy though, she had been his, and he wanted that; not in the sense of ownership, but in the sense that he could show her off, not only at social climbing obligations like pep rallies and basketball games, but he wanted to be able to hold his hand on the small of her back as he introduced her to his parents.

He hadn’t gotten that far though. He did something stupid, _colossally stupid_ , a boneheaded move, and that was trusting that _idiot Thomas_ with his insecurities. He’d only been saying these things out of sharp, momentary, anger, out of frustration, but somewhere along the way, that had gotten lost in translation _, he thought_ _purposefully_ , which made his frustration burn differently, and on behalf of the girl he had hurt by it.

“Nance I – “

She was looking at him in the same, unblinking, way she had been for the last five minutes. Unimpressed. But underneath that, in the snowy hue of her skin, red with the cold, there was upset, there was hurt, and he could guess there had been tears. Many tears. She had stopped them that day, before they’d spilled over onto her cheeks, but as her eyes filled, it had been hard to miss. He had forced himself not to break her stare. He had needed to see her hurt. And it felt like she wanted that, too.

“Nance…”

He sighed. She did, too.

“Steve, I have to go. I need to help my mom with – “

Here, she paused, and he knew that she was fumbling for excuses. She didn’t want to be here, out front of her house with him, freezing to death on the porch in her nightgown, listening to him fumble with his words. She was still hurting. And right then, it felt like no matter what he said to her here, now, she would still hurt.

Her heart was broken. He understood. So was his. They were just two teenagers with broken hearts, one an asshole, the other an innocent victim in his assholery. They didn’t know how to navigate this.

When they had sex that first time, she had let him in to a place of intimacy deep within herself that required trust and mutual understanding. And he wanted to believe that they still had both. It had meant something. It meant something real. And it felt, for him, as he roughly groaned her name into the warm spot between her shoulder and neck, soft and damp, his lips coated with longing for her, _Nance,_ like sex was something different.

“I love you, okay? And please don’t feel like you have to say it back, because you don’t. Not until you’re ready. If you’re _ever_ ready. And I’m sorry, for Tommy’s - no – for _my_ ignorant behavior these past few days. I’m so, so, sorry. And I’ll say it until I have no voice left, or until we freeze to death out here. I was just jealous of Byers – of _Jonathan_ – and it made me crazy, and act – “

“Like a child,” she interjected. “You were acting like a petty, stupid, child. And you called me – “

Her voice broke and in tandem so did his heart, into yet another, sharp fragment. Like glass.

He hadn’t realized how delicate and fragile a heart was, his heart was, until he met her, and she effectively broke it with so little words. To be fair, he had broken hers too, and that made him feel like absolute garbage, so much so that he would give her permission to break his heart one million times over while he stood helplessly, if it provided any consolation. It wouldn’t though. She was too damn nice for that.

“You called me a _slut._ What made you do that? You know that I’m the furthest thing from it. And it hurt, it hurt me so bad, to think that the boy that I thought I loved, thought of me, that way.”

The word forming in her mouth made him flinch, and then he heard something else. Love. _Love._ _Holy shit she said it. Sort of._ He’d come back to that. He was smart enough to know that it was not the main focus right now.

“Nancy Wheeler, you are not, and never will be, a… _that_.”

This didn’t satisfy her. He could tell. She wanted him to say it. Wanted him to feel the brittle edges of the word scratching the inside of his mouth.

“A _slut._ That is not what I think of you, at all. You are selfless, compassionate, you are beautiful and smart and are sometimes too trusting of me, and I don’t deserve it a lot of the time, especially now, but please, Nance, trust me when I say that I didn’t do that.

“I was upset at you for being with Byers, sure, I was feeling like you didn’t care about me in the way that you said you did, but I would never call you such a nasty name. Ever. You got me? _I love you,_ Nancy Irene Wheeler. And I care about you so much that it kills me to think that you don’t share in that, towards me. It breaks me.

“And I know that I broke you, by what Tommy had done, but I hope you can understand that it wasn’t me, that I’m not like that prick, and never, ever will be. Love can conquer anything. And if I heard you right before – “

“Ugh, I can’t believe I told you my middle name. My biggest regret,” she gave him what looked to be an embarrassed smile.

Then it turned genuine as she stepped closer, the inhibitions gone. She put her arms around his neck, her hands warm through his jacket, like coals of a fire. She looked up at him.

“I love you, Steven Robert Harrington. And it freaks me out a lot of the time and that’s partly why I reacted the way I did. My feelings are so strong for you that I didn’t know what to do with them, and for some reason, telling you about them seemed impossible.

“I’ve never loved anyone before. I mean I have, obviously, Mike, my mom, my dad, Barb, but I’ve never been _in love_ before. And honestly, it’s weird. It feels like it takes control of everything I do.”

“Ugh,” he mimicked her, with a playful grin. “My biggest regret. Telling you my middle name.”

She laughed, leaning into him and he kissed her head. “Nope. That’s a lie.”

He held her face in his gloved hands, caressing her cheeks like they were snowflakes in their own right, poised to disappear at any moment in his palm. He breathed out into the cold air, slowly.

“My biggest regret is not kissing you until now.”

With that, he kissed her, and instantly, the fire came back, flames erupting from the coals, embers blazing against their lips and tongues instead of crumbling to dust in the space between them.

He held onto her tighter and vowed at once to never, ever, let her go, and she squeaked in surprise at the grip on her waist. “Too tight,” she exhaled as they separated a moment for air.

“Too bad,” he told her with a smirk, leaning down to capture her lips in his once again, a firestorm swirling around them, heating their bodies to extreme temperatures from the inside out.

“I love you,” she managed in the small space between their lips, and he kissed her hard, with conviction, but as gentle as he’s ever been in that same movement.

“I love you, too,” he said to her, his mouth fitting the words around hers, because there was no way he was ever going to let her leave his arms again. 


	5. Little Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the realm of 1x01 and 1x03 - before Steve's party. Somewhere in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little humor in light of my angsty fic from before - I hope it comes across like I want it to! Two updates in one day, lucky you! As in whoever even reads these :)

Nancy felt herself turn to Jell-O, she felt helpless and tingly at the hands of him, holding her hips with such certainty, the pads of his thumbs nudging the waistband of her thong. His lips were hot and somewhat demanding, a flush of warmth coursing through her veins, his mouth mimicking her moans, muffled but nothing soft.

She hoped they were quiet enough not to arise suspicion. She’d elected to keep the radio off this time because screw it, it was risky, but she wanted to hear him say her name, sticky with sex and the remnants of cigarette smoke.

“You’re beautiful, Nancy Wheeler,” he mumbled against her ear, beginning to suck harshly on her pulse point.

He wasn’t being careful about it, and there was no way he was going to be no matter what she said, and so, she made peace with wearing a high collared shirt to school tomorrow, in eighty-degree weather, right then and there. It felt too good to ask him to stop.

“And you’re an idiot when you’re horny,” she murmured back, mouthing at his jaw teasingly, peppering kisses along it.

Neither of them registered anything else but the sounds they were making, and so, the door opening to her bedroom went unnoticed. But not the little pipsqueak voice.

“Mom! Nancy and Steve are having sex in her room!”

_Oh, shit, shit, fucking, shit._

“Steve, move, get off,” Nancy spoke at a lower than normal volume, addressing her little brother in that same way.

Steve pushed himself off of her, moving to sit next to her on the bed. The both of them were now locking eyes with Mike, mortified, but trying to hide it.

“Mike, we are not having sex. Besides, you’re like ten how do you even know what sex is? You don’t, obviously. Since you thought _this_ was it.”

“Close to it,” Steve whispered into her ear. _Dumbass._

 _“Shut up,”_ she said, with an elbow to his ribs. She recognized, annoyingly, that she’d said it in the same, stupid, flirty way she always did, to him, and she wanted to _die._ “Shut up,” she tried again, but it came out exactly the same way. _Damn._

Mike just continued to stare at them while all of this was going on, nonplussed. “Oh,” he said finally. “You’re not having sex.”

“No,” Nancy breathed out, a sigh of both relief and exasperation. Until the follow up question.

“Tell me, then, if you’re not having sex, what are you doing up here, with the door closed? Mom doesn’t like it when you have the door closed, Nancy.”

“Ugh, you little rat, I know that. We were just – “

“Making out, little dude,” Steve interjected, and Nancy groaned in frustration. _Stupid. Stupid,_ _stupid_ _idiot._

“Oh.”

“No, Mike, we were just – “

“Never mind Mom,” he hollered down the stairs. “They were just making out!”

“Ugh!”

Nancy balled her hands into fists against the duvet, both to keep from slapping her boyfriend and marching over to her bedroom door and slamming it in her little brother’s face. Neither of which would make any of this any better.

“Mike, listen to me. We were _just kissing_ okay. We weren’t doing anything we weren’t supposed to be. I promise you.”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “Then why was the door closed? Are you allowed to be _just kissing_?”

Technically, they weren’t, but Mike didn’t need to know that.

“Okay look, what happened was, we were just hanging out, talking and stuff, and we had pizza earlier, and I guess I had some sauce on my lip, so Steve was just trying to…get it off for me.”

In response to this, Mike just rolled his eyes.

“Who’s the idiot now, Nance?” Steve whispered.

“Shut up,” she snapped at him, but somehow, it _still_ came out all girlish and weird. _Ugh. What was Steve Harrington doing to her?_

“That’s the kind of excuse Holly would fall for, big sister, but not me,” Mike told her, his arms crossed over his chest, his one eyebrow still raised in suspicion. “I may only be ten but I’m still smarter than that.”

_Okay fine. He had her there. It was dumb. Her head was still spinning from earlier, what more did he want from her?_

“How about this. I won’t tell Mom what you and Steve were doing up here, whether you were having sex – “

“We weren’t,” Nancy interjected. “I want to make that clear.”

“Or making out, or _just kissing_ or whatever, if – “

“ _If what_ , you little rat?”

Mike grinned. Just like the Cheshire Cat. “If you give me ten bucks.”

Beside her, Steve chuckled. “You drive a low bargain little dude.”

“Hm, that’s true,” Mike hummed, evidently thinking it over.

_You are an idiot, Steve Harrington. A real and true idiot._

“Twenty bucks,” he finally said, with not a hint of humor in his voice. “Twenty bucks and Mom is none the wiser about whatever is going on here.”

“Fine.”

Nancy took a crisp bill from the back pocket of her pinstripe shorts and held it out to him. Happily, Mike took the money and walked out of her room. He stuck his head in the doorway a second later.

“Oh, by the way, Nancy. Mom’s not even home. Neither is Dad. They left to go to Holly’s dentist appointment. Honestly, I think they trust you way too much.”

“You little rat,” Nancy called after him, his boyish giggle running up and down the hallway, repeatedly.

“I’ll get you back for this,” she called to him, and she was going to leave it at that, but then she looked at Steve, who was looking at her like she was his last meal all of the sudden.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry,” he told her, his breath hot on her cheek.

She blushed under the scrutiny of his stare. She was still not used to a boy looking at her like that. Let alone if that _boy_ is _Steve Harrington._

“ _Shut up,”_ she whispered, giggling, but not uncomfortably. Instead, she owned it, grabbing roughly at the tufts of his hair at the back of his neck and pulling his face down to hers.

“Mike? Could you actually close the door? And uh – maybe go to Will’s for a little bit?”

Mike popped his head in the doorway again. “Thirty bucks.”

Nancy, without separating her mouth from Steve’s, because who was she kidding, the kid knew what they were up to, and as it stands he’s seen worse in the movies, took another ten from Steve’s back pocket and threw it in Mike’s direction. It was his gas money, but he’d have to do without for now.

“Hm, playing ass-grab, are we, Nancy Wheeler?” he mumbled gravely against her lips. He chuckled. “I like this game.”

She squealed as he pinched her ass, biting his lip in reaction, which made him moan. The last thing she heard outside of their mingling sounds of pleasure was both her bedroom door and the front one loudly shutting. As if he was trying to make a point. _Little rat._


	6. Let's Play Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place post-season 3. Canon-compliant drabble.

_"When guys cheat, it's because they need some hot action. When girls cheat, it's way worse 'cause girls don't even like sex."_

* * *

She knows it’s wrong, wrong and terrible, so terrible, but her desire for him is still there, strong enough that it burns her lungs each time she takes a breath, and if she concentrates hard enough, or not nearly hard enough at all, which is part of the problem, she can still taste the smoke, more than that, she can taste _herself_ , remembers so vividly the taste of herself on his lips. 

It makes her recoil in disgust at herself, but she’s also intrigued, as she is by most other things in life, and this was almost elevated curiosity, because he’d awakened something in her, something vapid and sensual, seductive, but still so very shy.

Her sexuality hadn’t been something she had explored selfishly. Sure, she’d known about it, knew that some of her friends had done it, but it was never something she’d ever wanted to consider. When it finally happened for her, those wonderful, beautiful physiological reactions to touch, cresting in waves, sluicing over her body so that she was drowning in euphoria and gasping for air, it was with someone else, her rise and fall in tandem with theirs. With _Steve._

Whether or not she loved him in the way he wanted her to, was something she still had trouble with, but she did love him in some type of way. A piece of herself was his, he would forever be the first person to see her that way, so vulnerable, so heightened, both physically and emotionally, and for the first time that she could remember, that was a night she’d acted on pure impulse in order to satisfy something that she had no hope in rectifying with logic. That was it. She’d decided she wanted him, then and there.

There had been no point in asking for privacy, she didn’t want it. She never did. The way he had looked at her after she had shot-gunned that beer, if he was impressed, surprised, or suddenly as attracted to her as he’d ever been, she couldn’t tell. Still, there was something in the way he was looking at her, cigarette faltering in between his lips as they curved into a smile. Something she wanted more of.

And she got it. Lots of it. And it made her happy, it made her _really_ happy. For awhile. Soon enough, curiosity got the better of her, but its focus was on someone else. She hadn’t planned for it, of course she hadn’t, she wasn’t that person; she wasn’t _a cheater_. Until she was.

Until she was, twice over.

Afterwards, she would lay starfish in her bed, too guilty to let him stay the night, listening to him climb down from her bedroom window and his feet hit the earth with a thud. He’d leave her breathless and blushing every time, her head whirling with the magnitude of what she had just done. Again. Was he okay with this? Having sex with her, loving her, when she was attached to someone else? To ease her guilt, she would repeat the truth to herself: Nancy Wheeler was her own person, not property of someone else, let alone feeding into that insane, machismo bullshit of being _property of her boyfriend._ Because, fuck that.

And who knows, maybe she felt things for Steve, deeper, stronger, things. Love things. Shit, maybe she was _in love_ _with Steve Harrington._ And if she was, then none of this, what they were doing, what _she_ was doing _behind_ her boyfriend’s back, wasn’t cheating.

No, it was. _It is_ and _Nancy Wheeler,_ she scolded herself, _you know better._ For now, though, she decided, as Steve bent over her to kiss her mouth and other places, she’d pretend that she didn’t.


End file.
